Survivors' Blog

Today, my heart is reminded of the pain that once was, the pain that so many of you find yourselves in today. For me, it is a distant, tender scar. It is healing, but if I stare at it long enough or touch it in just the right ways, the pain can all come rushing back. If you are in the middle of this kind of suffering, you are likely desperate for relief of any kind. Violently painful memories have carved your heart into pieces, and maybe you can't even remember what life looked like before this whirlwind of torment took over your life. Suffering takes on different forms for different people, but it is important to remember that both the repentant Unfaithful and forgiving Betrayed will experience torment. Though it might be tempting to keep score or claim that the Unfaithful has forfeited their right to feel badly, it does no one any good to go down that road. It isn't fair. It just is. To say that an unfaithful spouse doesn't experience pain is a bit like saying the same of a drunk driver who caused a crash, killing an innocent bystander. Pain and suffering are natural consequences. For the betrayed spouse, the analogy still holds. You might not have been behind the wheel, and you may have never seen this coming, but here you are: a casualty left in the rubble. Today, in the midst of whatever degree of pain you are feeling, I offer you this: God is near. He is, perhaps, closer than He has ever been. He hovers over you like a blanket, and He sees you. He does not waste pain. He didn't create it, but He will use it. I often don't comprehend why certain things have to die before new life begins, but I know and have seen that God does His best work in the desert. If you don't have a religious faith, then I invite you to look to peace or love or the universe instead--or whatever you can believe in today. Just believe in something. I know you're tired. You are so ready for this all to be over. But God sees your aches, and He hears your cries. He sees the stains on your pillows from your tears. What does it look like to lean in closer to that tenderness? Perhaps go and bury yourself in His word. If that's not your thing, maybe try to focus on someone else's suffering for a while. Sometimes, nothing helps us with our own pain as much as serving others. Either way, we can refuse to let pain be a place where we camp out forever. As Viktor Frankl reminds us: Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way. What is to give light must endure burning. I choose light. -Elizabeth

"Wondering if I will come to a happy place in surrender to self-care. Surrender to me. Myself. And I. Self-talk, positive affirmations of my worth. It's my time now. My season of me. I've given and given and given. No time for guilt over self-care anymore. Over rediscovering who I was…who I am apart from my spouse. I really am still me. How wonderful that she, the little girl inside, has not been extinguished? Even through the incredible trauma of discovery, lies and deception—I am still inside. Inside my heart I am still that young girl who loved the outdoors, the simple joy of natural surroundings ...and just being. I want to just be. I long to just be me. Before my time is up." – A Betrayed Wife What is this inner child work of which they speak? For those who have committed wrongs against self and others, it is a part of recovery. One must learn to forgive and re-parent the little child inside whose lens was distorted and learned to handle life's pressures through harmful escape. What about those of us who have been abused and neglected¬—we who have lost our footing because of our spouse's choices? How do we nurture compassion and empathy for the child we once were? It has been said in many 12-step ‘anon' programs–for recovering friends and family of another's addiction-laced actions–that it is to ourselves that are owed amends. Many of us have sacrificed the hopes, dreams, and joys of that little inner child with the best of intentions for our spouse and family. In turn, we have neglected the tender heart of our inner child. The cliché "no good deed goes unpunished," comes to mind. Yes, we have done many good deeds—probably more than most. And yet we drew the short straw when it comes to having a faithful marriage. We will never be able to say we had all the things those greeting cards in the stores tout on anniversary cards. Through no doing of our own, that precious day of remembrance of white lace and promises has been tainted. Yet, that inner child needs to be embraced and loved—the one who dreamed of a 50th wedding anniversary, grandchildren on our knee, and celebrating a life of honesty, respect, and love. What were his or her dreams and joys? What simple pleasures made him or her smile? Lying on the carpet face to face with puppy breath, needle teeth, and a squirming bundle of love. Strolling along a necklace of foam at the crest of a wave as it reaches up the beach and then slides back into the sea—looking for a glint of shiny shell to capture in hand as treasured remembrance. Wiping away the milk moustache after a crunchy Oreo experience. Running just a little bit ahead toward the front door of the next neighbor's house on a cool and dark Halloween night; pillow case in hand awaiting to be ‘fed' when the door opens. Trading your latest treasure from a collection of rocks, marbles, stamps, or trading cards with a best friend. Pumping the pedals of your bike, heart racing, with wind tossed hair. Taking a juicy bite of summer's first slice of watermelon. Trying to fall asleep in anticipation of Santa's drop down the chimney. Running in from playing outside to sit down to dinner surrounded by family. Gazing at the moon and trying to see the man's face wondering how Swiss cheese could form such an image. Being tucked in and kissed on the forehead, "Goodnight." Find them. Don't give up. There are still so many simple pleasures awaiting your notice. Mindfulness is not just a tool to achieve a state of meditation, it is the crystal clear lens of reality that allows you to really see all the amazing wonders all around you: see, taste, feel, hear, and smell the breadth of life. Find that little person inside and promise to never let him or her go. Never again sacrifice so much that you can't look up at the clouds and dream.

Self-Love. Self-Worth. Self-Compassion. These are words that I have had to unlearn and relearn—words that I thought I knew, but now realize I misunderstood for most of my life. Now, they actually mean something to me. Growing up, I would attend church with my mom and siblings. I had just enough of a smattering of church "sayings" and knowledge about the Bible to become familiar with them. But honestly, there was far more I did not understand than what I did understand. Most of the time, when I went to church as a kid, I always had a sense I was in trouble or "doing it wrong." I never felt a sense of belonging, and I remember desperately wanting to believe everything I was learning was true, but not understanding how it could be true. I would see a picture on the wall of this Jesus, wearing a white robe and surrounded by sheep, and I would get confused. This certainly wasn't someone that I felt could relate to the doubts and discomfort I was feeling. I would hear how much this "Jesus" guy loved me, but then I would also hear how bad my sinfulness was, and I didn't know what to do with either. I pretty much came away with the assumption that I needed to clean up my act or I was going to be judged. Maybe that was why my father never went to church. One idea that I would hear a lot in church was the "Golden Rule"—the idea that we should "do unto others what you would have them do unto you." What that meant to me was that you were supposed to elevate everyone else's needs above your own. To a little girl who was already questioning if she mattered in this world, it just further cemented this idea in my head that I should be last. It was a junk yard dog mentality that said, "just take the scraps." Everyone else must have something you don't, so keep your doubts, insecurities, and questions to yourself. When you are the unfaithful spouse, it is easy to adopt this mindset and assume that after what you have done, you deserve to be treated like dirt. It is easy to see yourself as dirt. However, this is wrong and simply untrue. We can't change the consequences of what we have done, but we don't have to keep treating ourselves badly in the process. Even if you don't go to church or believe in the Bible, I think we can all take something away from Jesus. He lived to help us all become better humans. His concept of loving others as we love ourselves was the basis of his ministry. Where I got this wrong was looking at His words backwards. I think Jesus was saying that all along, we are to love others as we love ourselves, but here's where I missed it: I was supposed to love ME first. I was supposed to figure out who I was, fill my cup, ask for help, and admit my own shame first. Instead of loving others well, I didn't love them at all. I was loving them just as I secretly saw myself: shameful, mistrusting, and hopeless. If I had begun to see myself the way God sees me, I would have maybe known that it was okay to start to ask for what I needed. I would have actually trusted the words of church leaders who had offered time and time again for me to bring my secrets and shame to the foot of the cross. Instead of holding onto information, I could have trusted my husband when he had begged me to tell him who I really was. I could have loved him much better had I had learned to love myself. If you are an unfaithful spouse navigating how to come back from the really poor choices you have made, I ask that we stop with the assumption of, "this is what I deserve," and, "after what I did, who can blame them for hating me." Trust me when I say that this will not help anyone heal. Jesus tells us that there is no condemnation in Him. Self-kindness is one of the most difficult concepts to grasp, especially when we are drowning in shame or your betrayed spouse is hurting. To treat ourselves with compassion when we feel like we deserve stones, seems unfair. However, self-condemnation will actually prevent healing. It won't change the consequences, and it will actually keep us stuck in a pretty selfish and awful place. The old saying, "you can't give away what you don't have" is true. It is only by kindness that I have figured out how to love myself and others the way I always wanted to. Learning to see, like, and love myself in spite of what I have done has been the biggest motivator for change. To love others as we love ourselves is to also learn to take care of ourselves just as we would take care of someone else. It has meant that I have had to treat myself with more kindness and understanding than I am often comfortable with. -Elizabeth

Before what we in the infidelity community call "D-day," my life was full—full of gratitude, challenges, and mostly good. My life was nowhere near perfect—punctuated with the losses one experiences when we are lucky enough to live long enough. I had lived a largely intact existence blessed with friends, a beautiful place to call home, and good food on my table. As a function of my positive, benefit-of-the-doubt attitude, I'd taken difficulties in stride. I mostly found solutions or learned to live with, and even celebrate reality. And then came D-day. Yes, I was aware of my unfaithful husband's (UH) tendencies to procrastinate, to not follow through, to leave me to fill in the gaps. Yes, I knew he was, at times, uncomfortably focused on sex, how to get more from me and frustrated that I was not sexual enough for him. The beautiful, sturdy vase of many colors that was my life still shone day in and out as a testament to my positive look-forwardness and super energy to make things work, even if to 'work' was not what I'd imagined. I was resilient, flexible, and forgiving of the world's imperfections and mostly happy. My UH's choice to blow up my world shattered that vase of beauty–scattered the fragments of what I thought had been my beautiful life–into a million smithereens. In the space of time it took him to utter the words, "Affair," and "Since 1989." My love-lit, light- lit world detonated into darkness, dust, and the scattering of those lovely shards of happiness that used to be me. How could this happen? Hadn't I played life in all sincerity—giving and loving to the best of my ability? Why would the world deal me such a blow? Why would the man I thought loved and protected me instantly be exposed as my life's greatest threat and heartbreak? I reached for the pieces. I fell to my knees and tried to gather as much of what remained as I could. I wept over the pile of sparkle and dust in my lap, knowing I could never glue it all back together. My life as I knew it was gone forever—in one horrible moment. Even now, as I write, my throat tightens, and the weight of the truth presses against my chest, and a tear is brought to my eye. I grieve for the woman who gave everything she had to a dream that was not real—a dream that was being manipulated to look pretty. In reality, it was actually infused with the evil of addiction and the thinking/actions such emotional immaturity brings with it. Such brokenness disguised in a coat of many colors as a faithful husband. Beneath that cloak were lies and justifications and resentments. >ver the past six years, I have searched for the fragments of my life. I've looked through the many dark nights of my soul, through the vail of tears, through books, blogs, and workshops of experts helping thousands such as myself try to make sense of the fragments that used to be their lives. The experts helped. The books helped. The workshops, mentors, helpers, and counselors helped. Yet no one and none of it could help me piece together what was once my heart. None of them knew my intimate heart...but me. And so, I have worked tirelessly to reconstruct our finances after he decimated them on the altar of self-aggrandizement and bottomless need for adoration. I realigned the money ducks into that metaphorical row. And then two and a half years later came the sexual infidelity bomb that made my re-gluing all the more complicated—and impossible. No neat rows of numbers, no methodical counting and saving would do now. I had to come to terms with the fact that there was no way to glue together this level of destruction—no way to EVER have a better past that was protected and cherished by a healthy faithful spouse. That would never be my reality. It was smoke and mirrors. I hit rock bottom of my soul. I was never loved as I had loved. The beautiful, colorful sparkles and beauty of my life vase would never be able to be reconstructed—never look anything like it had. I spent three and a half years collecting what was left: the sparkly bits, the raw umbers, and rich golds; the bright, sunny, yellow pieces, the deep lapis, and pearly whites. And so painfully, slowly, on bended knees—bent over the cold, barren, hard floor of my new existence, I began to lay down one tiny shard at a time. I began forming a new pattern of broken pieces into some semblance of a new world: A reality that still held beautiful cloudless days, soft summer nights, tall golden grass on rounded California hills, gardens that sprouted tender new life and the birth of new faces into my day-to-day. The shards meandered like a lazy stream seemingly in a ramble toward an indistinct future. Slowly, so painfully slow on the hard floor of reality, a pathway, a stream, a new life burst of a million colors began to form something that might even be called exquisite: My new life–my mosaic never dreamed of, never courted, never meant to be in my mind's eye–a reality. My new reality that can and is still something good...even beautiful. My mosaic. My life.

This is a question that almost all of us have asked or heard at some point during recovery from infidelity. It might have been screamed in anger, or muttered in a barely audible cry of exasperation. And it is a question we often hear over and over again, "How could you?" It is a good question, and it lies at the heart and sum of all of the pain created when people like me have affairs. It is as if we look to the heavens and we cry out in our pain, a guttural "why?" While this is an important question, there is rarely an answer that satisfies the need to understand this type of pain. After the aftermath of my own infidelity came out, my husband did not sleep for months. He lost over twenty pounds. He threw himself into work and disassociated from the world. He did not tell anyone and he lost any resemblance of joy in our home-life or hobbies. He retreated into a coma of what appeared to be complete non-existence. The pain was so deep, it was if he had detached himself from life itself. Even his looks towards me silently and contemptuously shouted, "how could you?" Making sense of what I had done was like trying to find a needle in the proverbial haystack. I wanted so badly to do something. I wanted to reach him somehow. But no matter what I did or didn't do, I could not begin to touch his pain. To him, I was pain. Never in his life had he felt the kind of rejection I had handed to him. Justice for my actions demanded inner protest in him. This was difficult to understand as an unfaithful drowning in my own shame. I had cut him so close to his heart. I had gutted him. And out of that gutting came a primal rage within him. I believe most people react in one of two ways to such pain: They will either lash out in an attempt to cause the same kind of pain that was done to them (screaming, anger, revenge) or they will go to the other extreme of complete withdrawal and isolation, even contemplation of suicide. My husband went the withdrawal route—he shut down. To say a betrayed spouse's heart is broken is an understatement. Over the course of days that turned into weeks, months that turned into years, he started to find his center. His center was deep within him, next to the same heart that had been shattered. And he discovered he no longer wanted to hurt me back. Was it the riskier choice? Possibly. But, back to the question of "how could you?" We have never answered that, but it is a question that's importance has faded over time. Recovery has shown us how deeply broken we BOTH are. And through the years of going through this, we have gotten pretty good at stopping the scorekeeping. A personal example for me is what happened recently—and yes, this was recent. One of my favorite sayings from Rick Reynolds is, "you can be miles down the highway and still just a few feet from the bar ditch." I was out and about and ran into an acquaintance that is friends with my former affair partner. Mind you, I have really tried to follow all of the wisdom Affair Recovery offers to not give airtime to any thoughts of the affair partner. However, this particular day, the woman mentioned him. I brushed it off, but then my dreams were haunted for several nights about him. I consciously did not want to give it airtime, but the triggers kept coming; until one night, a few days later, I did something really dumb. I looked up on the internet something the woman had mentioned to me in the conversation. For no other reason than stupidity and wanting the satisfaction that he was a loser. My pride won. What happened next? At first, there was a really awful and broken part of me that instinctively wanted to just hide that information about my conversation, the dreams, and the computer search. I suppose that part of me may always be there. But, I now know God can give me the strength to be different and change. I know that, as crazy as it sounds, I want to tell these things to my husband. I did by the way, and we usually can now handle conversations like this with grace and ease. They usually end with something like, "I know that is hard to admit, but I'm glad you were honest with me." My former life and ways of handling issues is over. Am I still broken? Yes. I just choose to be honest, above all else, in small things and big things. I think this is the only way our marriage will survive. "How could you?" for me, always, always, always starts with dishonesty. Period. Many of you write in and ask what to do if your spouse isn't safe. What do you do if your spouse won't forgive? All are many versions of the same "how" and "why" that are often far bigger questions than one person can answer in a single day. If that is you, I leave you with this: What is your center? Who were you before your spouse broke your heart? If you are the unfaithful, who were you before you started heading down a path that took you from fidelity, integrity, and honesty? Who do you want to become? This will require continuous digging to deeper places. If you haven't taken Hope for Healing or Harboring Hope, I suggest you start there. If you have taken those courses, what is keeping you from leading or mentoring? In all of the times I have taken Hope for Healing, I learn something new every single time. And with each new class, I am reminded quickly of how I came to a place of choosing infidelity. It is a reminder to me that I want to love people closest to me, not cause them pain. How could I? I did. All I know is I don't ever want to go back there again. Elizabeth If you'd like to read more on this topic, please check out the Affair Recovery series titled, "How Could You?" It might help answer questions that have popped up for you in the recovery process. Harboring Hope registration opens January 22nd. Subscribe to be notified. Harboring Hope is our online course for the betrayed to heal after infidelity. Our courses often sell out within a few short hours. Don't miss it! View Harboring Hope Registration Status Hope for Healing registration opens January 29th. Subscribe to be notified. Hope for Healing is our online course for the wayward to heal after infidelity. Our courses often sell out within a few short hours. Don't miss it! View Hope for Healing Registration Status

To forgive somebody is to say one way or another "You have done something unspeakable, and by all rights I should call it quits between us. Both my pride and my principles demand no less. However, although I make no guarantees that I will be able to forget what you have done, and though we will both carry the scars for life, I refuse to let it stand between us. One day, I still hope we can be friends". -Frederick Buechner This is one of my favorite definitions of forgiveness. I don't know about you, but I don't think there is anything easy about forgiveness. Neither the betrayed or unfaithful spouse can get very far into the recovery process without having to confront this issue. For the betrayed, they must choose to ultimately offer forgiveness for what seems unforgiveable. But what does a betrayed spouse do when they keep getting hurt? How do you forgive when someone seems to care less about you? For the unfaithful (and that would be me), forgiveness gets pretty complicated because it requires me to look in the mirror. I have to choose to face all of the seemingly "unforgiveable" things I have done and said and ultimately choose to forgive myself. I personally found the biggest stumbling block to my own forgiveness has been pride. It took a long time (almost two years) for my husband to forgive what I have done to our marriage. He admits to me he has always wrestled with his pride. Pride told him that he did not deserve what was done to him. Pride also told him he shouldn't forgive me, because there was to be no guarantee I wouldn't do this again. Pride told him that he had a right to hold onto his anger and make me pay for what I had done. It was only God who quietly kept asking him to exchange his pride for forgiveness. It has taken equally as long for me to accept and believe his gift of forgiveness. I first have had to forgive myself. Which looking at what I had done, seemed impossible. Because I have to admit, when I first started to accept the reality of the awfulness of my choices, all I wanted to do was run and hide. Shame was my ammunition to fight pride. It took a lot of months for the fog to lift and once I became curious about my own actions instead of judgmental towards them. Once I started to let go of some of the self-hatred, I was able to see and release myself all of those things I had actually been running from for so many years. Pride was the ugly little voice that kept whispering lies that I was somehow better than what I had done. Pride was behind the mask of my pretending. Both the unfaithful and betrayed will wrestle deeply with pride. I think to be human is to be prideful. And I once heard, if you have no idea what your faults are, it is likely pride. Like a cancer, pride can be a secret, destructive force that slowly eats away at our relationships…whether we stay married, we are separated or end up divorced. Pride is the ugly, silent, contemptuous whisper that says "I am really better than you because..." You can have forgiveness or pride but you can't have both. One of the reasons I can't wait to meet Jesus face to face someday is that I am fascinated by the idea that we will get to encounter someone that has absolutely zero pride and ego. And another reason I can't wait to meet Him is that He is able to offer complete forgiveness. Scripture tells us that God is able to look at us and not remember our sins at all. He doesn't see them. While I thank God for that, it is unfathomable to me because as mere mortals, we each have this thing called a memory. We have all heard that you can forgive, but you can't forget. Which is why one of the most helpful concepts I have learned of late has been the idea of "redemptive forgiveness". And this is the idea that we can (and must) simultaneously acknowledge what happened AND forgive. The memory of our affairs, the turmoil, the aftermath and the pain will always be with us. For all of us reading articles like these, infidelity is likely one of the most devastating things we will ever face in our lifetimes. Only when I am able to forgive myself, I can say "never again to I want to be in such pain and agony nor cause such pain and agony". Therefore, I choose to offer forgiveness of self AND receive my husband's gift of forgiveness. Today I am really grateful for that gift. Elizabeth

Today I am sharing with you something that someone sent to me after my dad died years ago. I have never forgotten it, and I share it with you today for encouragement wherever you are within the waves and wreckage of infidelity. (This was originally posted on the website thatericalper.com by someone unnamed) "My friend just died. I don't know what to do." A lot of people responded. Then there's one old guy's incredible comment that stood out from the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death. "Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents." "I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people that can't see." "As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that it was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang onto it for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive." "In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves, there is life." "Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you'll find the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, and for the most part, you prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out on the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out." "Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."1 Here's to finding life between the waves. -Elizabeth originally posted on the website thatericalper.com by someone unnamed